


I wanna be

by rosesarebest



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: M/M, Male Friendship, Scomiche, Unrequited, scomarson - Freeform, superfruit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-04-19 04:58:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14229777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesarebest/pseuds/rosesarebest
Summary: Scott and Mitch have come a long, long way together...but maybe, not far enough. The housewarming is brilliant but it don't get easier.





	1. not promised

**Author's Note:**

> OK so nobody asked, but here it is, an idea that wouldn't go away. Now it can be in your head too.

He’s never seen Mitch like this before. He’s soft, sitting so close to Beau you couldn’t get a feather between them. The same way they used to. His hand rests easily in Beau’s lap. Beau whispers in his ear and he smiles, all the way to his eyes, all the way to the bottom of deep, deep dimples. A properly happy smile.

Scott loves those dimples.

It’s not that he doesn’t have someone of his own, either. Both his guys are there, sitting just as close as Beau and Mitch, smiling just as soft. They look up from each other’s eyes and he’s pulled into the warm depths of their shared affection. His men. Two who between them, love and cherish and own and submit to him. His leader personality thrills to the twin joys of being in control, and being able to give up all the control; two sides of owning power.

Still, Scott thinks, Mitch could do that.

He sees the possessive hand placed on the small of Beau’s back, even though he’s taller. Mitch is the older one now, more experienced in life, in bed, in everything. He’s not the baby any more, in his relationship or his band. He’s undoubtedly in charge.

He misses femme Mitch.

He misses the one who put actress as her bio, called herself she, said f*ck gender barriers. The person who wore garnet lips as a challenge and a lure. It’s easier to imagine her again, now he’s shaved the moustache. Scott thinks he’s beautiful, she can wear anything. He’ll always think so.

Time to move on.

They sing together at his housewarming, friends forever, soulmates even. The house is beautiful, and fitting for his success. And Mitch is just minutes away, but he’s waking up snuggled with Beau, and it’s never going to be the same again.

Mitch’s house is even more beautiful of course, eclectic and artistic. He’ll display his brilliant yellow silk kimono on a wall now he’s taken a photo wearing it, hip popped, smooth curve of his butt begging to be stroked. Tease. He’s keeping his house, his man, as private as he can, leaving Scott to display more and expose his heart. As he always does.

He can’t stop loving him.

Mason comes over and kisses his cheek. He smiles up at someone who can actually manhandle him, let him be smaller, cared for, and he does love him. Mark soon follows, cuddling into his other side. Scott is blessed, he knows.

 

Life is changing and some things never change. So Scott wants, and he waits, and it’s okay, because the future is not yet written.


	2. one, two, three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's thinking and drinking. Dangerous combination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I was done with this, guess I was wrong.

Scott’s an extrovert. He’s always been popular, talented, successful when he works hard. He’s been blessed, and he knows it. He greets the world with a bright happy smile, even the doubters and haters, because he’s polite and well brought up, and he might be able to change their minds, if he can get them to listen. So far the world smiles back, mostly.

His self belief is legendary.

Except when it isn’t.

His expensive new house is a wonderful haven, filled with friends and laughter, Mark and Mason. The things he values most are all around him. He only has to wander into his living room, with its view of the Hollywood hills, his Grammys and the shiny baby grand piano, to know he’s made it.

Tonight, it’s empty. That’s okay, except then the doubts start creeping in. Can he keep going? Can he do it again with Superfruit? Can he build a bigger following, get the radio play that still eludes him? Can he write another great song?

He sips a vodka tonic. Just one, tonight, or the rabbit hole will suck him in and he’ll be needy, drunk texting and making a fool of himself. He’s not doing that again.

He loves his boys. He’s finally, properly, living out loud and proud, acknowledging their relationship in a way he was afraid to do with Alex. He hopes Alex doesn’t hate him for it too much, realises he’s grown up now. More mature, able to see that the love from family, friends and fans does outweigh the criticism by a long, long way.

Throuple sex is inventive and tender and exciting in ways he never even dreamed of. They take care of him in every way. But his guys have each other, and Mitch has Beau, and tonight he’s not sure where he really fits in the scheme of things.

Scott doesn’t dwell on the future too much, past the next tour or album. When he does, his heart stutters. After all, Kirstie’s story showed him that happy ever after doesn't always work out how you planned, no matter how much you want it.

His heart stutters.

In the farthest corner of his mind, where he doesn’t look for fear of stirring up feelings he can't cover with an easy smile, a small truth hides. It whispers through the silence, louder than thought.

He pours another Grey Goose and tonic. Just one more. He stares out at the hills where darkness is creeping in, shading the sky violet and pink. Are Mark and Mason equally his, or will he always be the third?

Third of three in both couples, and nobody’s number one.


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott comes home after a triumphant tour. His boys know what he needs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 27th birthday to Scott, even though he won't see this! He's my inspiration.
> 
> It's the end of the biggest and best PTX tour yet, and this fell out of my brain. Enjoy.

Scott pulled his last case from the trunk and waved goodbye to the driver. It had been an amazing tour, the biggest and best so far. Thirty-nine nights, rapturous crowds at every stop, and they’d got through without any serious illness or problems. Echosmith were like fun cousins, great to have around. Calum Scott had become a real friend. They jokingly referred to each other as C-Scott and Scott-Scott or Scott squared, and he loved it.

 

Matt was an absolute joy, reminding them all of their early career excitement that had grown a little jaded over time. Scott almost forgot that Avi wasn’t there. Superfruit did Pride, and as always their fans turned out and showed up. They knew all the words to all the songs and it made him giddy with surprised delight.

And Mitch? He was happy and relaxed and Scott loved spending more time with him. Mitch accepted his hugs and closed the little distance that had grown between them. It was inevitable, he knew. They both had serious partners and they worked so closely together that they had to separate when possible, for the sake of all their relationships.

Scott didn’t want to be that separate, not really, but Mitch was glowing and that’s what he wanted for his best friend and soulmate.

And one of the highlights was his surprise visit to a convention full of adoring stans, right after a fabulous hometown concert in Dallas. He got to see again how the fandom took Matt to its heart as part of their family. He got to go out for a low-key family dinner with Mark sitting next to him, as part of his family. He got to do what he loved and be loved. But the fatigue settling into his bones told him he’d got to rest, for a while anyway. He pulled all the cases up to his front door and opened it with a sigh. Home at last.

 

The first thing he noticed was music playing softly. Mason appeared wearing a black tee that showed off his arms, black jeans and an apron that said _kiss the chef_. So that’s what Scott did, melting into strong arms with a deeper sigh. He revelled in the embrace he’d been craving, since Mason visited only a few PTX shows due to work. It had been too long.

“Hello superstar.”                                                                                        

“Hello big boy.” Scott stretched forward to capture Mason’s lips again, keeping it sweet but meaningful. “I missed you.”

Mason broke the kiss. “Let me take your jacket.” He pulled the jacket off and hung it, then turned back to Scott. “We have a surprise for you.”

Scott grinned and kicked off his shoes. “I love surprises.”

Scott let Mason lead him into the living area where a table was set for three, with white linens and tall scented candles burning. His smile only widened when he saw Mark dressed as a waiter. Well, ‘dressed’ was a bit of an overstatement. He wore a white collar and bow tie, white cuffs, a tiny pair of black shorts that showed off his v-line, and a white towel draped over his arm. Teeth flashed in the happiest smile. His lean torso looked good enough to eat. Scott whistled and let his gaze roam every inch of tan skin from his head to his bare feet.

“Wow.”

“Hello baby. I’ll be your server tonight. Touching the staff is absolutely encouraged.”

Scott closed the distance in three long strides and pulled Mark into his arms, inhaling his sweet, spicy scent. He kissed him hard and let his hands roam over the taut muscles of Mark’s back, dipping down towards his butt and relishing the little gasp in reply before he stepped back.

“Easy tiger, food first. Dessert later.”

“Suddenly I’m not hungry.”

Mark laughed. “That look suggests you’re hungry for something, but let us take care of you. I know you’re tired after travelling.” He pulled out a chair. “Mase, starters please.”

“Coming right up.”

 

Scott sat, and his boys served a delicious, light meal that satisfied without weighing him down. Wine and conversation flowed freely. Scott watched them from across the table. Sitting close, shoulders touching, they smiled and kissed and finished each other’s sentences. He sipped his wine and the love between his boys was a beautiful, tangible thing.

Just as his brain started to overthink inclusion and exclusion and boundaries, a foot found its way from his ankle to knee before rubbing circles on his inner thigh. His tired body woke right up when he saw Mark’s sly smile. Scott licked his lips. Maybe they should move on to dessert before he passed out. His eyelids drooped.

“Okay, time for you to get showered and lie down, princess. No, we’ll clear up. Go.” Mason’s tone held a note of command, and Scott was happy to comply.

On his way past he leaned down to kiss both boys, and was rewarded by a slap to his ass as he turned around. He didn’t sway his hips walking away, that would have felt ridiculous, but he did stretch his arms high to display his long torso. He threw a coy glance over his shoulder and blew a kiss for the appreciative audience.

 

After a warm shower Scott felt heavy, his limbs turned to lead. Candles burned around the bedroom and he faceplanted on his bed. Despite the teasing earlier he was exhausted and sleep called him.

 

_A dream._

Four oiled hands massaged him, sliding over his muscles. His upper back received firm, circling strokes followed by kisses. He sighed with pleasure as the tender knots unlocked. His feet, calves, thighs were worked over simultaneously. Then his legs were opened wide. Hands kneaded his butt. More kisses to his shoulder were followed by long strokes down to his wrists. A finger circled his bud and he whined, eyes still shut. God that felt good.

 

“That’s it, princess.” Mark’s voice, low and seductive, made him shiver.

Not a dream then? He had no time to get his brain in gear because fingers slipped deep and found his prostate with practised ease. Desire bloomed in his belly.

Scott gripped the pillow, hips twitching as he frotted against the roughness of the towel he’d collapsed on. “Fuck, please.” He couldn’t tell how many hands were touching him. Fingers pumped slowly in and out and he was lost to sensation.

 

‘Turn over, baby.” Mark spoke, and as soon as Scott managed to roll over Mark lay beside him and attacked his mouth. Scott opened up as Mark took control, sliding his tongue in time with the finger fucking until Scott about lost his mind. Mark tugged at his hair with one hand and gripped his wrist with the other. When Scott reached blindly for his cock Mason grabbed his hand and bit his thigh.

Scott yelped. “Ahh, please Masey I need—”

“No touching,” Mason grunted. “We’re taking care of everything tonight. Let go.”

Meanwhile Mark worked his way down Scott’s neck, sucking and biting and definitely leaving marks. Scott panted, chest heaving. Mark moved on to nipples, rolling one and sucking at the other.

 

Scott’s hands were freed but he let them lie at his side, his senses overwhelmed. One ball was stroked while the other was sucked into a hot mouth, then switched. Nails scratched lightly at his inner thighs, his flanks, his lower abs, everywhere but his neglected, leaking cock. His blood burned and a low continuous groan vibrated in his throat.

 

“So beautiful, and all ours.”

Mason lifted his mouth away for a moment. “Yes, you’re gorgeous.” He licked a stripe from root to tip and Scott gasped. It was too much and not enough and he wanted sleep but first he wanted everything.

“Please I can’t I need—”

Mason swallowed him whole and Scott forgot to breathe.

Mark groaned in his ear, hardness drilling into Scott’s hip through the thin fabric of his shorts. “It’s all for you baby.” He licked at the shell of his ear, then threw an arm and leg across Scott’s torso before claiming his mouth again. Tension coiled in the pit of his stomach and every rational thought left his brain.

 

Mason hummed around him, tongue lapping at his slit when he pulled off almost completely only to take him down his throat again. He held one hip and thrust his fingers deep, curling his fingers and sending white-hot sparks of pleasure racing through his pelvis. Scott was surrounded, held, secure in an ocean of bliss.

“Come for us, princess.” Mark bit at his neck and rolled his hips.

Scott convulsed, black and red spots behind his closed eyes and curses spilling from his lips as he shot into Mason’s welcoming mouth. Mason worked him through his peak until he melted, quivering and breathless from the intensity of his climax. Then Mason’s mouth was on his and he tasted himself in the kiss. Mark caressed his skin without stopping and pressed kisses to the tender marks on his neck and collarbone.

“Love you,” he slurred, spent and barely able to form words.

 

Mark cuddled in front of Scott and Mason spooned him. He was blessed and successful and loved by so many people that his heart could burst. And here, back in his own bed, he was cared for completely by two men he adored. Tomorrow he would return the favour but at that moment, Scott had only one thought before sleep took him away.

“Love you both.”

Mark whispered, “Love you baby.”

“Same.” Then Mason chuckled. “But tomorrow we’re watching _The Little Mermaid_ , because damn Scotty. Our princess needs to be schooled.”

 


	4. three, two, one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's life has changed and not for the better. He has some serious thinking to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back just for a while!
> 
> This work of fiction was inspired by a GC convo and then got out of hand, oops.
> 
> It's angsty and long and now it's yours. Enjoy.

Wherever he might have thought his life would lead, Scott wouldn’t have bet on this particular outcome. The drink in his hand is only water. He’s not sure anything stronger would be a good idea, and yet he wishes it were some kind of forgetting potion, for numbing the ache and soothing the pain. Something to make it all go away.

 

The view is lovely as always. Twinkling lights pop out like stars in the hills as the sun slides out of sight, leaving a pink glow in the sky that will turn indigo. It’s not unlike his heart. Everything was better than great; it was amazing. His sky was brilliant, lit by twin suns. Now it’s dark blue. Soon it will be darker than that, and who knows how long the night will last this time?

Maybe he will have that Grey Goose and tonic after all.

 

Glass in hand, Scott wanders through his house. It’s smart and shiny and spacious. But is it home? It was once filled with laughter and light. He can’t go into the bedroom that saw so many hot nights, can’t bear the thought of bringing anyone else there. The king-sized bed is made, the comforter smooth, the pillows piled high. Meanwhile he’s camped in the guest room. It’s smaller, easier to hide in. He’s nobody’s prince right now.

He feels fragmented, stamped on, torn open and left bleeding. Impossible dreams, broken promises, and disappointment play on a loop in his head. People watch from afar whispering that they knew it would never work. Scott can’t meet anyone’s eyes, doesn’t want to read the pity, schadenfreude or barely disguised glee he thinks he’ll see there.

He knows better than anyone that he played a big part in this train wreck. Knows he said and did the wrong things that seemed right at the time. He drains his glass and gets into the shower. No songs pass his lips, instead he lets water stream over his bowed head and tries to think of nothing.

He’s slipping into a tee shirt when he hears the doorbell. His heart squeezes tight. He doesn’t want to see anyone. So he pulls on sweatpants and ignores the bell and the lit screen of his silenced phone in favour of fixing another drink.

 

The doorbell rings four, five times before a continuous ringing attacks his ear.

“What the fuck?”

He takes an angry gulp and vodka burns in his throat. The bell rings. They should go, whoever they are. He’s too weary for yet another round of pleas and recriminations.

When the bell keeps ringing, Scott snaps. His fear of who it might be is overcome by anger, neither pure nor simple. He strides to the door and snatches it open with a shout.

“Will you fuck the fuck off?”

“No.”

Scott takes a step back at the bold reply.

“You can’t make me.” Mitch slips past him while he stands open-mouthed.

 

Scott deflates, trying to switch gear from the rage he felt moments before.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Mitch sets two Starbucks cups down and removes his jacket, holding it out to Scott. He hangs it in the closet without replying. His brain is misfiring.

“I’ll take that as a no then. Caramel macchiato—oh, you have a drink. Well, coffee never hurt anything.”

 

Scott bites the inside of his lip. Mitch arranges himself on the couch, purse next to him. He’s as casual as he ever gets in Vetements sweats and a vintage Siouxsie tee shirt, looking up at Scott with a smile.

“Are you going to sit down? Only I feel like we’ve swapped roles, because clearly this is your house and I’m the guest. But you’re making me nervous.”

Scott swallows. “I was – I was in the shower and the door kept ringing and—”

“You didn’t answer your phone.” Mitch sips coffee and glances over to the table.

Scott picks up his phone, sees fifteen missed notifications from Mitch alone.

“Sorry, just wanted some alone time.” He puts the phone down without opening it.

“You’ve had a bit too much of that lately, Scotty.”

 

Scott sits across from Mitch and twirls the cup in his hands. “I just need time to figure things out. Figure myself out.” His drink is hot, sweet and comforting.

“I get it, I do. You can cut yourself off from people, but then I’m not people.” Mitch is looking out at the twinkling lights, not attempting to make eye contact.

The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. They finish their drinks and stare out at the dark sky. Scott puts on the lights and some soft music, and the space feels warm and cosy with the two of them. He runs a hand through his hair. Maybe he should check his messages, so he gets the phone and flops down again. He pretends to scroll through while glancing at Mitch, wondering what happens next.

 

“You’re looking at me. I can always tell, just so you know.” Mitch doesn’t move, and Scott huffs.

“I was being subtle.”

“Hoying style subtle, which is to say completely obvious.”

“Am not.”

“Honey, you really are.”

“Why are you here?”

“Always so welcoming. Fortunately I’m used to your bullshit.”

Scott shakes his head. This is not coming out right. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Don’t you have somewhere to be? Somebody…” He trails off.

“I want to be here and I have no reason to be anywhere else.” Mitch turns his head slowly, pins Scott with a cool gaze that brooks no argument.

Scott frowns slightly. Did he miss something? Of course while he was deep in the throes of his own war, a nuke could have gone off beside him and he’d hardly notice.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m here for you.” Mitch waves an elegant hand in the air. “And I’m good.”

Okay, no further discussion. Scott gets it, but there’s a question still. He can’t quite bring himself to voice it. He decides to start again, and stands in front of his friend.

 

“Let’s start again, without me being an asshole this time. Hello Mitch, thanks for dropping by and bringing my favourite coffee, which was delicious and much better for me than another vodka tonic.”

Mitch looks up at him, a small smile forming. He holds out his right hand, but when Scott goes to shake it he finds himself pulled onto the couch. He lands with a soft exhale.

“Forgiven.”

“That’s a relief.”

 

Scott settles himself close to Mitch but leaves some distance. He’s not sure what this is about yet. “So you’re checking on me now? I saw you all earlier and I’m fine, really.”

“Yes I saw you, but we didn’t talk.”

Scott’s been avoiding pretty much all social contact outside work for weeks but that shouldn’t trip Mitch’s alarms, after all they spend much more time apart than they used to before. Before things changed.

He musters a smile, but it feels strange on his face. “I’m—”

“Bullshit.” Mitch touches Scott’s arm. It’s fleeting and Scott’s heart speeds up.

“I’m… it’s…” He looks down at Mitch’s fingers tracing over the back of his hand.

“Tell me the truth,” Mitch says. “I can take it.”

 

They sit for minutes, while Scott breathes fast and irregular, and something tightens around his chest. “I can’t.”

“It’s okay, babe.”

“I can’t… “ He puts the other hand over his mouth.

 

_Shouting and tears, slammed doors, wounding words. Accusations and bad behaviour born from a need to get out, even if it turned ugly. Trying to keep secrets in public. Comparing what he had to the past and it was too much and not enough._

_“I want an equal. Somebody who’s their own person and not looking to me for every little thing—“_

_“Oh and how does that square with your need to be the centre of attention? How can anybody be independent AND trail around while you hog the limelight?”_

_“I didn’t ask you to follow me—”_

_“You expected it though, and wasn’t that the problem when there were three of us? I thought if we could be together more, it would work. We could work.”_

_“Just don’t – just listen to me, okay?”_

_“I did! I left everything behind – I love you and… I’ll do whatever you want.”_

_“Maybe that’s not what I want now.”_

_“You bastard. It’s always, always about whatever the fuck you want, that’s the problem! I’ve given you everything.”_

_“I know. I’m sorry.”_

“I wanted us to work. Three of us, two of us.”

His vision blurs with tears and he swallows the lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. Mitch’s grip is tight on his hand now. Sometimes he forgets how much strength is in that delicate wrist and hand. He needs to lean on someone and there’s nobody left to trust, nobody he hasn’t wounded with his careless words and thoughtless actions. He’s alone.

 

“I know babe.”

Scott’s shoulders heave, he can’t keep this bottled up any more. “I fucked up, big time.” Hot tears drip down his cheeks and he wipes them with the back of his hand. He can’t breathe.

“Scotty.”

Mitch’s light voice whispers into the space between them and then Scott is gathered up, every tiny shard, and held. He’s pulled through the storm of shady media comments and packed bags and cancelled plans. He’s faced judgemental looks from friends and turned backs from others he thought were friends. It’s been exhausting.

 

He lets it all go, sinks to the bottom of the lake of tears. Cold invades him from every direction.

His face is swollen and his eyelids itch and he can hardly breathe. Dark emotions swirl around his chest and lay heavy on his heart; regret, anger, fear. Fear is the worst, stealing away any future he once had. He can’t fight it any more.

 

Somehow he ends up with his hot, damp face buried in Mitch’s shoulder. His sobs peter out into sniffles. Mitch is still there, running a hand up and down his back. It could be five minutes or five hours later, but he’s not alone at least.

“I’m not cut out for this.”

“Mmm?”

Scott takes a deep, shaky breath, blows it out. “I’m not made for love.” The fear holds his heart prisoner, its claws sinking deeper as he accepts the ugly truth. “Don’t deserve it. I’m selfish and unfaithful and I – I use people.”

There, he said it out loud. He’d heard words like it before. It’s time to accept the unflattering truth.

Mitch says nothing though, not even a reflex denial. That must mean he agrees, even though his hand never stops its smooth motion up and down, soothing and warm. Scott slumps a little, but he knows now what everyone else obviously can see. Minutes tick by.

 

He just needs to get out, that’s all. Dive back into the world of bright smiles, loud music and cute boys, if only for a night. Hell, maybe even tonight. He could shower and wear the blue patterned shirt that flatters his eyes—

“That is not true.” Mitch’s whisper is hardly a ringing endorsement. But Scott will take that if it’s all he can get.

“I think… my track record suggests otherwise.” He needs water for his scratchy throat, and shifts his weight to sit up. Arms tighten around him.

“No.”

“No?” Scott is confused. Mitch is welded tight to his side, his embrace is close, and it’s too much.

“Mitchy, I need—”

“You need the right person, that’s true. Someone who gives you what you need and calls out your BS. Someone who loves all of you, not just the shiny bits.” Mitch lets go.

 

Now free to move, Scott sits up to look into Mitch’s face. He’s startled by the fire in his eyes.

“Thanks baby.” They’re just words, but he’s grateful.

Mitch’s fierce gaze never shifts and Scott struggles to maintain eye contact. He let down his shields and now Mitch is peering into his soul. He’s uncomfortable.

“Don’t run away Scott. Talk to me.”

He studies his feet. “Nothing else to say. I’m an asshole, but you knew that.”

“And?”

He knows that tone. He can imagine the raised brow that accompanies it. An answer is required before Mitch gets pissed.

“And nothing, all right?” He stands up but he can’t face Mitch, doesn’t want to see what he really thinks. “Good guys come into my life. But they don’t stick around and since I’m the only common factor… I did the math. I’m not worth fighting for. It’s whatever.”

 

Without glancing back Scott goes to the kitchen for a bottle of water. He splashes more water on his face and then rummages in the cupboard for ibuprofen. This is not the night he envisaged.

When he returns to the living room Mitch is waiting, dark eyes softer.

“We fight sometimes, but I’m still here.”

Scott shrugs. “That’s different.” He drains the bottle and sits away from Mitch. His head throbs and he wants to be in bed, alone in his misery.

“We’re always aiming for the same thing.”

“Well, if that’s true why would we be fighting then?”

Mitch shakes his head. “Oh my God just listen. Because we might want something different at that time, but we still want to be on the same side in the end. When you’re fighting with your men, you don’t make that a priority.”

“That’s…”

His brow furrows and he trails off as realisation punches him in the gut. All those times he was determined to win. All those times he blew hot and cold and got angry at the unhappy response. All those times he refused to compromise because he was right.

He never considered the end game. He stares out at the dark, seeing nothing. There’s movement in his peripheral but he doesn’t react. Scott thinks he’s a good guy, lovable and generous. He loves having his boyfriends along, saving him from getting lonely and needy on the road.

But then he feels smothered and needs space so he pushes them away, sending them back to a life he expected them to give up in favour of what he wanted. He never realised that there was no going back for them, while he happily moved on and left them in the dirt. A truly independent person makes him anxious about being left, and that leads to him seeking reassurance elsewhere.

 

He’s a fuck-up who destroys lives. No wonder they hate him.

“I’ll never find someone who can put up with me. This is my life.”

Mitch is standing by the big windows. “I know, it’s my life too.”

“Well you seem to navigate it better.”

 

Mitch says nothing, but his shoulders slump. Scott sees that and wonders again if he should ask. He decides to wait.

“Mitchy come cuddle with me.”

There’s a need that he’s been squashing down under a veil of indifference or excessive cheer. Now it rushes to the surface. He wants to feel someone in his arms, have them pet his hair, breathe warm air against his skin, remind him he exists and he’s worthy of attention.

“Please.” The longing in his voice shocks him. The silence that follows scares him.

 

Eventually Mitch turns and walks over, his face neutral. “You should compromise more. Nobody’s perfect, not even you. And this may surprise you, but you’re not always right. Sometimes we give in just to shut you up.”

“Oh.”

Mitch sits near him, which softens the blow a little. “You don’t want to hear this. But dating someone whose entire life revolves around you is flattering at first, then irritating and finally boring to you. Then you kick them to the kerb and cry because you’re alone.”

Wow. “Wow. Pulling no punches huh.”

“I’ve watched you long enough.”

Scott nods. “Fair comment. So what’s your advice?”

Mitch is watching with that intense gaze again. “I already told you. Do you want to cuddle or not? I fancy a movie with popcorn.”

 

Ten minutes later they’re sharing a blanket and a bowl of buttery popcorn, singing along to _The Greatest Showman_ soundtrack. Scott doesn’t miss the speed at which Mitch downs Chardonnay, or the way that he melts against him, all the earlier tension gone. He traces the ink covering his arms, his slender fingers free of rings. Scott wonders again what this evening is all about. He holds Mitch close, breathes in his cologne. They’re practically lying flat now, empty bowl and bottles on the floor, and singing has faded away.

Mitch sighs when Scott drops a kiss on his head. Scott savours the regular rise and fall of his chest. He hasn’t felt this relaxed in far too long. He hums the songs and with Mitch’s warm weight against his heart he feels lighter than he has in weeks.

 

He wakes as Mitch shifts to get up, placing one hand on his thigh.

“Potty break.” He walks away, slightly unsteady.

Scott switches off the TV and clears away the glasses and bowl, but when Mitch doesn’t return he decides to go to the bathroom as well. He has nothing planned the next day, but isn’t sure what Mitch is up to. He walks towards his room.

“Hey Mitchy, what…” Scott stops by his open bedroom door. Mitch is asleep in the bed, snoring lightly. His sweats are draped over the chair.

 

Scott chews his lip, heart pounding. He looks down the corridor where the guest bed is waiting. What the hell does this mean?

 

Of course Mitch assumes he’ll sleep in his own bed.

Longing blooms in his chest. In no time at all he brushes his teeth and slips in behind his Mitchy. He inches forward, lays his arm over his waist. Mitch mutters and scoots back, nestling against his chest without waking. Scott screws his eyes shut against tears that threaten again. He doesn’t deserve this comfort, and certainly doesn’t deserve this wonderful man who never abandons him.

He wants to tangle their legs together. Instead he barely touches lips to Mitch’s shoulder to avoid waking him, and relaxes. Perhaps tonight will bring sleep.

 

The next morning he wakes alone and realises he slept the whole night.

“Morning, time to rise and shine.”

The smell of coffee prompts him to open his eyes. Mitch is sliding his sweatpants over his hips and Scott looks away, instead sitting up and stretching his arms.

“So you’re meeting me for brunch today at Spinelli’s.”

“I am? But how—”

“Table booked for midday. Be there or face the consequences.” Mitch blows a kiss and is gone before Scott can form a reply. Okay then.

 

On the drive to the restaurant Scott’s brain spins at a hundred miles an hour. They haven’t done lunch alone for ever. Maybe someone else is coming, like Austin or Lindsay. Maybe Mitch is just trying to cheer him up. _Maybe, maybe._ What he does know is that he already feels more settled since their impromptu movie night and sleepover.

He’s sipping a mimosa when Mitch arrives, weaving between the tables with a dazzling smile. He looks fantastic in a white turtleneck and glossy black leather jacket adorned with multiple zips and pockets, carrying a small red purse. Scott stands and hugs him, then drops a kiss on his cheek.

“You look absolutely gorgeous Mitchy, what’s the occasion?”

‘What, I can’t dress up to meet my main bitch for brunch?” He waves a hand as he sits down, and a flash of gold catches Scott’s eye.

“I’m honoured. Anyone else coming?”

“Just us two catching up.” His lips are enhanced by a touch of pink. They’re soft and kissable and Scott busies himself with the menu and small talk.

 

Before long their order arrives and they talk about music and vacations as they eat. They discuss each other’s projects and the group’s plans for the future. It really has been too long.

Scott clears his throat. “Thanks for last night, and this of course. I slept really well.”

Mitch smiles. “So did I, actually. I got tired and I should have asked but I fell asleep.”

_Yeah,_ _after getting_   _in my bed_ _but we’ll gloss over that part_. Scott isn’t about to voice that thought.

“I didn’t mind.” Scott crumbles the last piece of croissant on his plate. Can he ask?

“It was what I needed.” More questions crowd his mind, but he goes with just one. “How are things with you anyway?” He’s unsure if Mitch will give an honest answer. He’s unsure of everything just now.

Mitch looks directly at him, still smiling. But Scott can see the tension behind the mask.

“I’m – I’m great, actually. I feel like there’s a big change on the horizon.”

That was not helpful. “A change with what?”

“With me, I’m figuring out my next steps on my own. Still not sure how I want to progress the solo stuff but I’m writing and we’ll see.”

 

Mitch is waiting with hands folded on the table, and Scott tries not to be distracted by a little flash of gold. He keeps his focus on Mitch’s face. Not that it’s difficult. He looks even more beautiful than Scott remembers. Three words ring in his ears.

_On my own._

“Are you going to say something?”

“You’ll kill it, Mitchy. You’re the best singer I know.”

Mitch blushes and plays with his fork. “Being the best isn’t always enough.”

“It’s a great start.” Scott finishes his drink.

“Sometimes it’s all about the timing as well,” Mitch says, eyes fixed on his fork.

“Are we getting coffee here?”

Mitch shakes his head and reaches for his purse. The light catches the gold again. “You’re taking me home.”

Scott calls for the check, wondering what that means.

 

It turns out Mitch came by Uber, so they hop into Scott’s G-wagen and head towards the hills. As they approach the definitive left turn that will take them to his house Mitch clears his throat.

“Are you gonna go left or right here?”

Scott frowns. “Your house is left?”

“Stop the car.”

Scott pulls in. “What’s the matter?”

“I asked you a simple question. Actually think about the answer, Scott. Which way do you want to go?”

It feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the car. Mitch looks forward, hands clasped again. Scott closes his eyes. He feels Mitch lying against his chest laughing or rubbing his back while he cries. He hears his voice sharpen with irritation as he tells the truth. He hears angelic singing. Mitch sits there, proud and strong and so close, and Scott aches.

“I want to go your way, Mitchy.”

Mitch turns to him. He doesn’t look angry and his voice is soft. “Do you? Do you know what I need, and can you give it not just for a while but always? I don’t play and I don’t share. Now take me home.”

 

Scott opens the door for Mitch outside his house. “Plans for the afternoon?”

“Not much, just going to relax. See you soon.” Mitch moves in for a hug and they stand a while. Scott doesn’t want to let go. Mitch taps his back and when released walks away, key already in hand.

 

Scott sits in his car for three minutes before his heart slows down enough to drive away. Floral cologne lingers in the air like a promise.

 

Over the next few days, Scott feels the clouds slowly dissipate. He cracks jokes with everyone, works hard at the gym, and eats alone each evening. The sunsets are spectacular, and although he’d normally raise a sundowner or two in celebration he sticks with water. He needs his mind clear because the thoughts spinning through it are unsettling enough without adding alcohol to the mix.

Any ideas of going to the club to find a cute boy vanish from Scott’s mind. Instead he starts seeing friends again. He doesn’t spend any time alone with Mitch, but they’re good in company together. He plays piano when his house feels empty, and gradually adjusts to a new routine. It’s not what he planned, but it’s okay.

 

One evening, instead of going home he finds himself driving past Mitch’s house. He shouldn’t turn up without calling first, he knows. But he pulls onto the driveway anyway and sits there as darkness falls, staring at the steering wheel and entirely unsure what the hell he thinks he’s doing. His phone buzzes and startles him.

 

_Queen Mitch: Scott wtf are you doing there?_

Scott has no idea. He should go home, Mitch probably has company. The thought saddens him.

_Queen Mitch: I see you_

 

The lights are on and the house seems welcoming.

_Queen Mitch: the fuck?? door’s open_

_Queen Mitch: don’t make me come out there_

Scott goes inside, slips off his shoes and looks around the hallway. He half expects Mitch to be standing there, hands on hips and angry. Since he’s alone, Scott takes a couple of deep breaths. He’s not safe yet.

 

The brilliant yellow kimono from their Vacation shoot is displayed on a wall. He walks slowly into the living room, hoping that Mitch isn’t going to rip him a new one for arriving unannounced. They never used to be like this. He never had to ask.

“You didn’t call.” Mitch is sprawled on the couch in tee shirt and leggings, but he’s smiling and that’s good.

Scott’s stomach unclenches a little. “Hey, yeah I was passing so…” He trails off and spreads his hands in lieu of actual words. Smooth.

“Passing. Okay.” There’s the sassy brow raise, but it could be a lot worse. “Do you want a drink? I have wine or wine so don’t ask for beer.”

No beer any more, noted. “Red wine’s great.”

 

Mitch returns with a full glass and holds it out. It’s then that Scott sees it. The flash of gold he saw at brunch is the Cartier Love bracelet he bought Mitch years ago. He’s glad he wasn’t drinking or he might have choked. He takes the glass and looks up at Mitch, who sits nearby. Scott still can’t speak. His mouth is dry and he’s not sure he can make words.

 

“What you in the mood for? Movies or did you want to talk?” Mitch curls one leg under him. His feet and arms are bare, and the slender gold band on his wrist is all Scott can see.

“That depends on whether anyone else is around.”

Mitch shakes his head slowly. “Nope. It’s just you and me.”

Scott blinks, sips wine, and considers what to say while watching Mitch play with his glass without actually drinking anything.

 

“You were right. You’re always right.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. About my priorities, and everything.”

Mitch nods. “Uh-huh.” His face gives nothing away. Actress indeed, and a good one.

 

Scott takes two more slow breaths. It’s like climbing higher and higher on the rollercoaster, except he could still get off and avoid plunging to his death. Time to be brave.

“You’re wearing my bracelet.”

“Actually it’s my bracelet, but okay. Yes I am.”

He looks Mitch in the eye. “Why?”

Mitch spins the bracelet, bites his lip. “I want to.”

 

Scott remembers the storm of speculation when he gave it to Mitch because it was _obviously_ more than a best friend’s gesture, and how he encouraged and played up the Scömìche story until Mitch was totally over it. He remembers his pang of disappointment when Mitch finally stopped wearing it (when was that?) They moved on and he forgot about it.

 

“I’m honestly unsure what’s happening here.”

Mitch shrugs elegantly and looks away. “I tried to make things clear for you. I can take it off, it’s just jewellery.” He gulps wine and Scott can’t bear the sadness in his voice. He moves closer on the couch.

“Maybe so, but…” Can he do this? Should he? “Do you want to take it off? Because - I like seeing you wear it.”

Mitch is looking at his wrist and when he finally replies, it’s a whisper. “No.”

 

Scott’s close enough to smell spiced floral cologne. “I can’t be trusted with anyone. Anyone except you.”

“Can I trust you? The stakes are high and like I said, I’m not playing.”

Scott lays his hand over the bracelet and feels Mitch shiver. His thumb rubs over the gold and moves on to skin. Their thighs touch.

“I don’t have to think about you and me,” Scott says. “I don’t have to censor or wonder, I just know.” He’s pressed against Mitch now, shoulder to hip. “I trust us. When nothing else is certain, whether you’re near or far, I trust you.”

 

Scott takes Mitch’s hand in both his own and clears his throat. The words come harder than he ever thought they would when he lay staring at his bedroom ceiling.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

They laugh together, but it doesn’t ease the tension at all.

“Rude.” He turns Mitch’s hand over, lets it rest in his left hand while he traces his middle finger along the lines. Mitch takes a quick breath and his exhale is a sigh.

 

Scott shifts, puts a little space between them. He wants to see Mitch’s face and he can’t when they’re side by side, shoulder to shoulder. But Mitch’s eyes are fixed on their hands, on the slow sweep of Scott’s long middle finger inked with the outline of their home state, across the head line, back along the heart line, down the lifeline to the gold band on his wrist. His lips are parted.

 

“What were you thinking?” Mitch says, his voice shaky.

Scott’s thinking about the heat building in his groin, but there’s something more important. Something that has to be said first.

“I trust you more than I trust myself. So if you say we’re always aiming for the same end point even when we’re fighting, I believe you. If you say you’re always there for me, I believe you. And if you say you want this, I believe you.”

Now Mitch looks up, eyes wide and dark. “I know we’ll always be friends. But I want to come home to someone I can depend on. I want everything and I won’t settle for less. I want capital L love and this time, if I take it off it’s the end of that dream. And I’ll deal with it.”

Scott nods, smiles. “I believe you.” He presses his lips to Mitch’s cheek, then drags them towards his ear. He whispers, “You talked about timing. Is this the right time?”

“Scott—”

“Is it time to move on?” One hand slips to Mitch’s thigh, and his sigh sends heat rushing through Scott’s veins. “Because you should know I always meant it.”

 

He’s still tracing lines on his palm and Mitch gasps, hips shifting as the other hand strays closer to his groin. Scott knows physical responses can mean everything and nothing, but Mitch is melting under his touch, neck offered, mouth open, ready. He’s scared, thrilled, horny as hell. But it’s not enough.

 

He tugs at Mitch’s earlobe with his teeth, hears him hiss in response. “Baby.”

“Don’t play with me, Scott.”

Scott’s pants tighten even more at the low tone, but he’s still ready to back off if he doesn’t hear the answer he needs.

 

He pulls away then drops to his knees in front of his number one. He leans in to kiss Mitch’s open palm, then his mouth, gentle and undemanding.

“I’m not playing. It’s taken me too long and too many mistakes to realise the truth. I gave you a Love bracelet and I meant it then, and now, and always.”

“Oh thank God.” Mitch throws his arms around Scott’s neck and hugs him tight, rocking forward until Scott can feel his arousal. “Can we take something off now?”

Laughter bubbles from Scott’s chest, fizzing with relief and excitement. “Thought you’d never ask.”

 

Mitch squeaks in surprise when Scott scoops him up into his arms. Scott loves the feel of his weight, solid and certain, and the arms looped tight around his neck. He stops along the way to trade sweet, lazy kisses. There’s no rush.

“I need you.” He nibbles at the generous lower lip that makes him forget his words and swipes his tongue along it until a soft puff of air escapes.

“I need you to take me into my room and ravish me, goddamn it.”

“As you wish.”

 

Soon Scott straddles Mitch, their hands interlinked, the bracelet glinting in the light of a single lamp. He scatters kisses from his goosebumped neck, down his flushed chest to his hip bones. He’s excited and calm at the same time, exploring the body surrendered to his touch. He maps every curve and dip with hands and mouth, each reaction a joyous discovery.

He can’t believe they’re doing this, even with Mitch’s soft moans filling the air and skin hot under his lips. He sucks and nibbles at Mitch’s inner thighs and leaves his mark. He’s allowed now.

 

Scott can’t believe the sounds Mitch makes when he finds his prostate. He summons all his self-control because he wants to savour every moment. Then he kisses his boy breathless before lining up.

“Mitchy, look at me.”

Mitch half-opens his eyes and he’s beautifully pliant. “Yes,” he says.

Scott marvels at how one small word is all, inviting him to fall, to drown, to fly.

“I love you, Mitchy. Always.”

Scott sinks slowly, watching Mitch accept him, waiting until he starts to cry out and roll his hips. Then he grips those narrow hips and drives him to his peak and beyond.

He can’t believe how loud Mitch is, releasing with Scott’s name on his lips. And when it’s his turn to fall apart a few minutes later, he can’t believe he waited so long for his dream to come true.

 

Later they lie wrapped around each other, trading soft kisses. It’s almost perfect. Something nags at Scott, but he doesn't want to spoil the mood.

Instead he says, “Happy, princess?”

Mitch hums. “It broke my heart you know.”

Scott doesn’t know, and he’s not sure he wants to hear right now. “What did?”

“Taking it off. I know we were never anything, always undefined. But as long as I wore it I felt like I was yours somehow.”

“Baby.” Scott pulls back far enough to see Mitch’s eyes glitter with unshed tears. He’s so open and trusting that it hurts.

“I never knew. You told me you were done and to miss you with all that Scömìche shit, as I recall.”

Mitch sniffles. “I couldn’t take any more when it wasn’t real.”

Scott kisses his eyelids, tastes salt tears on his lips. He doesn’t want Mitch to cry any more. “It’s real, baby boy. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but I’ve loved you forever.”

“Sometimes it’s more, and sometimes it’s all consuming, but I always love you.”

 

Scott crumples. Tears of relief and happiness catch him by surprise and now Mitch is the one kissing them away. Scott lets himself fall, lets their bond hold him until his broken parts begin to heal.

He stops running and accepts his fate. Stronger, together.

“I promise to be the man you need.”

Mitch smiles, soft and brilliant, and it lights his heart. “You already are.”

*******

 

They argue about an engagement ring, but Mitch says the bracelet is enough and Scott eventually concedes. He buys him a magnificent diamond wedding band instead, and Mitch has no problem with that.

 

They argue about houses, but agree to trade up from their statements of independence in favour of a wonderful shared home with the yellow silk kimono displayed in the hallway and Scott’s piano overlooking the ocean.

 

They argue about the honeymoon, but agree to take enough time off to visit Paris, Japan and the Seychelles in one glorious trip that ends with Mitch bringing home four extra suitcases.

 

Scott gets restless the first time Mitch travels without him, but when they FaceTime the bracelet reminds him that he promised himself to one man who doesn’t play or share. He wears the screwdriver on a chain the next time they’re apart.

 

Mitch never takes off his Love bracelet, and that’s the one thing they always agree on.

 


End file.
